


The Five Times Clarke Missed Bellamy (and the One Time She Didn't)

by viansian



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viansian/pseuds/viansian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living with him was difficult. Living without him was even harder.</p><p>(Companion piece to "The Five Times Bellamy Blake was Selfish (and the One Time He Pretended He Wasn't)")</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Times Clarke Missed Bellamy (and the One Time She Didn't)

i.           

           She screamed as Anya slid the knife between his ribs. Her own cry sounded strange in her ears, seeming more like the shriek of something wild, something feral and savage, than human. She struggled to escape of the grip the Grounders hand on her, but she couldn’t break free. Instead she was forced to watch as a small trail of blood spilled from between Bellamy’s lips (those lips that had been so firmly pressed against hers that day in the rain) and saw him spasm with pain.

           She sobbed as he fell to the dirt, the Grounders still holding her back, holding her away from him.

            _Bury me next to Charlotte._

           No. No, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

            _I’ve been selfish all my life._

           Her whole body was wracked with sobs as she screamed his name, begging him to stay with her, not to leave her, telling him that she needed him. But as she saw him turn his head to look at her, something akin to longing (she did not dare hope it was love) in his eyes, she knew that there was nothing she could do. She was helpless as she let the tears stream down her grime-covered face and she watched the light fade from his eyes.

_Just this once, let me be selfless._

            The Grounders finally let her go and she scrambled towards him. Pulling his body onto her lap, she felt for a pulse, a fresh wave of sobs crashing over her when she didn’t feel it. She wondered what had possessed her to even hope for one.

            His eyes. Dear God, his eyes. Those eyes that were full of passion, full of rage and lust and love and kindness and hatred and happiness and every emotion she could imagine. Those eyes that always gave him away, always betrayed his true feelings when his mask of indifference slipped over his features and lies of strength were etched into his posture. Those eyes that once had held so much _life_. Staring up into the sky. Unseeing. Empty.

            She couldn’t stop shaking. His blood covered her hands as she whispered his name over and over and over again.

            The Grounders had long since disappeared into the night and for a moment; Clarke wanted to chase after them. She wanted to kill them all, to wash off _his_ blood with the blood of those who had killed him, who had taken him away from her.

            But that would mean leaving him. And that she didn’t want to do.

            So instead, she closed his eyes and kissed him.

            She kissed his mouth and his eyelids and his hairline and his cheeks. She let the tears fall from her face onto his as she pressed their foreheads together. She begged him to wake up, not to leave her in this place that suddenly seemed to have lost all of its light. She whispered that she loved him.

            All the kisses she gave him now paled in comparison to the one he had given to her. The one he had granted her while the light had still lived in his dark eyes.

           All of the kisses she gave him now tasted like loss.

           She didn’t know how long she sat there, cradling him in her arms, rocking back and forth and humming softly to herself.  It wasn’t until light began to peek above the treetops that she could even think of standing. Her legs were shaky beneath her and she felt weaker than she ever had in her entire life.

           She slipped her hands underneath his arms and began to drag him back towards the camp. The whole world seemed bland and colorless and the weight on her chest and the numbness she felt in her soul made it impossible to form a coherent thought. Or perhaps she just didn’t want to think.

           Get back to camp.

           Get back to camp.

           Get back to camp.

           The simple phrase became her mantra, blocking out the rest of the world as she pursued her single purpose.

           Get back to camp.

           Get back to camp.

            _Let me be selfless._

           The blonde princess stumbled, her throat tightening and her hands beginning to shake once again. But she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deep.

           Get back to camp.

           Get back to camp.

           Get back to camp.

           She tried to ignore the weight of his body in her arms. The roots in the forest floor protruded out of the soil, trying to tangle her feet and trip her. But she pressed on, her mantra ever fresh in her mind.

           When she finally stumbled into camp, Jasper was racing to her side in a moment.

           “Clarke!” he shouted, leaping over logs and sleeping bodies to reach her as she stumbled, this time letting herself collide into the ground. “Clarke! The Grounders disappeared just before dawn. We were just about to send a search party out for you guys. Did you manage-“ His sentence was cut short and he stopped in his tracks. She watched as the color drained out of his face, replaced by a green hue and he looked like he was going to vomit. “God, no…” he whispered and Clarke could hear his voice crack just a little bit.

           People began gathering around, sleepy murmurs quickly transforming into horrified gasps. “Get out of my way!” she heard a familiar voice yell. Finn burst through the crowd, Raven following closely behind. “Clarke!” he shouted. “Clarke, are you okay? Did they hurt-“ his words died on his lips as he noticed the body she was kneeling next to. There was silence for a moment before he whispered, “Clarke, I-“

           “How?”

           If she’d been thinking properly, it would have scared her how cold and empty Jasper’s voice sounded as the one syllable question slipped off his tongue. When she looked at him, she noticed the greenish tint on his face was gone, replaced by a grey-white color. He no longer liked like he was going to puke, but he still looked sickly. Though his expression was blank, his eyes burned with an inferno that she knew would only end in vengeance.

           Her eyes stayed at the chemist for a moment longer before they moved back to Finn.

            _Spacewalker._

           Bellamy’s nickname for the boy echoed in her ears and she felt the pain of loss stab at her chest like a thousand razors. Tears burned behind her eyes as she realized all over again that she would never hear his voice again.

           She looked at his body (he looked so serene in his sleep and she prayed that he had more peace in death than he did in life) and found she could not hold her tears back anymore.

           As she gestured to his body, salty drops washing away the dirt on her face like rain, she directed the answer to Jasper’s question at Finn.

           “This,” she whispered, “is what your _peace_ cost.”

           She swayed and heard a shout before everything went black.

 

ii.

            The Ark landed on a Tuesday morning. But not the exodus pods.

            _The entire Ark._

            None of the Hundred could’ve expected that. They all gathered around the doors to the main hatch, excited whispers circulating among them as they waited to see their parents.

            Clarke had contemplating staying back at camp.

            It wasn’t like her mother was going to be there anyway. But then the excited look on Jasper and Monty’s faces, coupled by Raven’s easy-going grin (Finn rarely came near her anymore) had convinced her to tag alone. After all, now she was the sole leader and she should at least be there to welcome their adult counterparts to hell.

            The breath seemed to be sucked out of her lungs when her mother stepped into view. She had yelled and ran towards her, pulling her into a tight embrace and for a moment, nothing else seemed to matter. The parents frantically searching for their children faded away and all she knew was relief.

            Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

            Pulling away from her mother, she turned to see Chancellor Jaha with a solemn look on his face. “Clarke,” he greeted her.

            “Chancellor,” she replied. “I’m so sorry about-“

            He cut her off with a raise of his hand. “We will talk about Wells later,” he said, his voice catching slightly as he said his dead son’s name. “For now, there are parents searching for children that may not be here.”

            She swallowed hard and nodded, the lives lost flashing through her head. Not a day went by without her thinking of the kids who had died.

            Not a day went by without her thinking of _him_.

            It was as if all the joy she had from seeing her mother had suddenly been sucked away and she felt a sharp pain in her chest. Quietly, she listed off thirteen of the fourteen people they had lost.

            She could not bring herself to say his name.

            Not even three months later.

            Jaha gave a short nod to a dark haired man (Kane, Marcus Kane if she remembered correctly) and the man turned on his heel, off to inform thirteen sets of parents how deadly Earth could be. Well, twelve. Charlotte’s parents weren’t there.

            And neither were his.

            “Come,” Jaha said. “Show me your camp.”

            They headed back to the camp in silence, some of the people of the Ark following, but many staying behind to salvage what was left of the spaceship. When they reached home, Clarke commanded some of the former delinquents who had followed them to make room in the drop ship for as many people as possible, and set up tents for the rest. As they set off to do as they were told, she caught Jaha looking at her strangely.

            “Sir?” she asked. Her mother had stayed back, tending to minor injuries many had sustained during the landing. The two of them stood almost alone in the center of the camp.

            “They seem to listen to you,” he replied. “How did a highborn manage to earn the respect of criminals?”

            Her voice caught in her throat. _I didn’t._ she thought to herself. _He did._ She clasped her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. “I-I didn’t at first,” she said, cursing how her voice stuttered just a little. _You’re stronger than this,_ she chastised herself. _He knew you were stronger. What would he think if he could see you now?_

            She didn’t care what he would think. She’d just care that he would be there.

            Jaha’s brow furrowed. “If they did not respect you, then how did you lead them? How did you earn their respect?” he asked, his voice confused.

            A sad smile slipped past her lips as she remembered the second day they had landed, the day when she had tried to convince them all to keep their wristbands on (for their families, for duty, because the Ark was dying), while he sowed charismatic words of freedom and rebellion, drawing them to himself and distancing them from the Ark (he had always been the favorite of the two). “I worked with someone who they did respect,” she whispered, trying to fight back the tears. She braced herself for the inevitable question.

            “Who?” Jaha paused for a moment, looking around. “And where is that Blake boy? Bellamy?”

            An involuntary gasp escaped Clarke at the sound of his name and she squeezed her eyes shut. How she wished she didn’t have to answer that question. How she wished he were right there beside her, staring into the eyes of the man he once thought he had killed.

            “He’s…gone,” she managed to push the words past her lips. When she opened her eyes, she saw the puzzlement on the chancellor’s face.

            “Gone?” he asked. “Gone where? Did he leave camp? I told him I’d pardon his crimes.”

            Was he really going to make her spell it out for him? Memories of that night washed over her like a tidal wave of panic and despair.

            His placing the blame of their mistakes on himself.

            His telling Anya to take him instead of her.

            His blood-stained lips and empty eyes.

            _Bury me next to Charlotte._

“He died.” _For peace._ _For the camp’s safety. For the greater good._ “For me.”

            Understanding transformed the chancellor’s features and he moved to set his hand on her shoulder, to comfort her.

            Pulling away, she put distance between herself and the man who killed her father; the man who had sent her down to this hell to find life, only to then lose it.

            She had refused comfort when he died and the Hundred had long since stopped offering her any. She’d be damned if she accepted it from the person who might as well have killed him.

            Pulling a blank mask over her face, she ignored the tears that were now falling from her eyes. “The Grounders needed a sacrifice to appease the souls of those we had inadvertently killed since we landed. He offered himself.”

            “Clarke…”

            She didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes, the little bit of sorrow that he might have for a man he didn’t know. So she turned away, tears falling freely. “I believe you have twelve families to console, chancellor,” she stated coldly. “And I am not one.”

            The crunching of leaves told her he was leaving, and once everything was silent again, she allowed herself to fall to her knees and sob.

            _Bellamy Blake,_ her soul whispered. _I miss you._

iii.

            It hadn’t taken long for the Hundred to leave. Their time alone on Earth had shaped them into entirely different people, people who weren’t compatible with taking orders from old men in council chairs. Clarke had been the first one.

            She had packed her bag and was headed towards the gate when Jasper had spotted her. He had asked her where she was going, and she had replied that she didn’t know, just somewhere away from there.

            He had given her a lopsided grin and told her to wait five minutes, stating that it would be “just like old times.”

            It wasn’t just like old times.

            _He_ wasn’t there.

            But sometimes, it was close. Sometimes, she would allow a smile to be pulled out of her when Monty ran out of a tent, hoisting a new bottle of moonshine over their heads or when Raven would plant homemade firecrackers around Jasper’s bed and she would hear a loud crack followed by a “ _Raven!”_ in the early hours of the morning.

            Others began to follow, mostly just the original Hundred at first. But soon enough, anyone who disagreed with the council and their decisions found refuge in what was soon dubbed as “Clarke’s Camp”. They still traded and worked with the people from the Ark, but they made their own rules, lived their own way, a way that both kept everyone safe, but also happy. In a way, the did “whatever the hell they wanted.”

            If only Bellamy could see them now.

            She liked to think he’d be proud.

            It was a year and a half after his death when the camp had an unexpected visitor. The sentries had spotted two figures approaching and aimed their guns. They had been about to fire when Clarke had suddenly yelled at them to stop.

            It had been the first time she had raised her voice in months and the entire camp turned to watch as she began walking towards the strangers, slowly at first, until her pace picked up and she was running.

            She crashed into Octavia, laughter and tears mingling as they tumbled to the forest floor. Clarke stood and helped the girl to her feet, both of them grinning. Jasper soon followed with Monty and Raven close on his tail. Lincoln was with her, and the two of them looked happier than ever.

            A smile still on her face, Octavia looked from Clarke to Jasper and asked a question that made Clarke’s heart drop to her stomach.

            “Where’s Bellamy?”

            When no one answered, the smile on her lips faltered. “Is he out hunting?” The confusion in her eyes was enough to break Clarke’s heart.

            “Octavia…” she whispered.

            Realization dawned on the girl and the easy-going grin dropped from her face, replaced by fear. “He’s okay, right?” her eyes darted to each of her friends and Clarke could hear the panic rising in her voice. Her dark eyes (they looked so much like his, so alive) landed on the blonde girl and she said, “Clarke, please tell me he’s passed out in bed with some girl or something.”

            She felt those damn tears in her eyes again and the stabbing pain that had finally dulled to a throbbing was suddenly sharper than ever. “Octavia, he’s gone.”

            The girl raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “No,” she whispered. “ _No._ ” She fell to her knees as she began crying and Clarke wrapped her arms around the younger girl, letting tears fall from her own eyes as well.

            “I didn’t tell him goodbye,” Octavia sobbed. “I just left. The last thing I told him was that he got mom killed.” Her whole body was shaking and Clarke just held her. There were no words of comfort to give.

            “He was reckless, wasn’t he?” her breaths were coming in short gasps. “This all my fault. If I had stayed he’d have been more careful, he’d still be alive, he’d-“

            “Octavia, no. It was his choice,” Clarke said sharply. Turning, she looked at Jasper (Jasper, who had grown to be half the man Bellamy was. He had become her right hand man, the person she turned to when she needed help. He wasn’t even close to being able to fill the void she lived with, but he filled it enough to help her survive without the dark-eyed man she had fallen in love with) and said, “Get everyone out of here. I need some time alone with her.”

            No questions asked, he gestured for the surrounding people to follow him and Clarke heard him yell at all the people who had gathered by the gate to get back to work. He wasn’t Bellamy, but she was thankful for him.

            “What do you mean?” Octavia asked, finally calming down enough to get the words past her lips. “Why did you send them away?”

            Clarke’s eyes darted down. “I…I never told them,” she confessed. “I never told them what happened the night he died. Jasper tried to pull it out of me at first, he did have the right to know, but every time they tried I just shut down, didn’t cooperate. One time I refused to leave my tent for three days. It was actually Jasper who snapped me out of it. He told me that…that _he_ would be ashamed of me and that he would’ve wanted me to live.” She let a small smile pass over her lips. “He’s grown up a lot, Jasper. Maybe one day he’ll be as strong as your brother was.”

            “I don’t want to talk about Jasper,” Octavia whispered, her voice breaking. “I want to talk about Bell. How did he die?”

            Knowing it was time to face her fears, to relive that awful night yet again (because Octavia deserved that much, she deserved to know), Clarke swallowed hard and began to tell her tale.

            She told of his bravery, his kindness. She told of how the Grounders were going to kill one of them and he surrendered himself. She told of how he wanted to be selfless, of his courage in the face of death. She told of how his sacrifice brought peace.

            Octavia snorted.

            Looking at her in surprise, Clarke asked, “What?”

            “Bellamy never gave a damn about peace,” the girl replied. Her voice was short and harsh, leaving no room for argument.  Clarke found herself looking into dark eyes (for a minute she was convinced she was looking into Bellamy’s) as they asked an unspoken question.

            _Why?_

_Why did he do it?_

Her voice broke as she said the words, “He saved me.”

            She knew that Octavia wouldn’t let her leave it at that, but the follow-up question was not the one she had been expecting.

            “What was between my brother and you?” Clarke suddenly felt like a delinquent boyfriend being interrogated by disapproving father Octavia.

            Her response was rushed. “What? Nothing! T-there was nothing between us.”

            “Bellamy wouldn’t die for someone he didn’t care about. What, were you sleeping with him? You can tell me.”

            Clarke spluttered in shock. The very idea of Bellamy and her being friends-with-benefits was preposterous…wasn’t it? Her stomach rolled as the nickname “Mommy and Daddy” the Hundred had often called them took on a whole new meaning. “No!” she stammered. “No, it wasn’t anything like that. I mean…” She trailed off, wondering if she actually wanted to tell anyone about her experience in the rain.

            “Clarke,” Octavia whispered. “He was my brother. I have the right to know.”

            The tears burned behind her eyes and her throat felt like she had swallowed acid. “He kissed me once,” she said, her voice softer than a whisper. “The day after you disappeared with Lincoln, I followed him out into the rain. I was afraid he was going to do something stupid; he wasn’t himself. He missed you and it was just the heat of the moment and-“

            “He loved you,” Octavia interrupted, something like awe in her voice. “It’s the only explanation.”

            Clarke did not answer. She didn’t even look up at the dark-haired girl.

            “And you loved him too. You still love him.”

            Miserably, Clarke nodded. What else was she supposed to do? She couldn’t deny the words or ignore the heavy weight on her chest. She could only curse herself for not realizing her feelings until after he was gone.

           “I couldn’t save him,” she whispered. “Th-they made me w-watch when they k-killed-” Breaking down, she covered her face in her hands, tears pouring from her eyes. Octavia gently shushed her, wrapping her arms around the girl her brother loved and rocking back and forth.

           “It’s so hard,” Clarke sobbed. “Everything is so hard without him. Nothing feels right and I have to lead all on my own. I needed him and now that he’s not here, it’s like living in hell. Everything is so hard!” For a moment, Clarke let every bit of despair she had been holding back over the past year and a half to slip past her walls and into her voice as she said softly, “I miss him so much.”

           She heard the younger girl’s voice catch. “I know. I miss him too,” she murmured.

           Clarke let out a low, bitter chuckle. “How did we get here?” she asked, more to herself than Octavia. “I was supposed to comfort you, and here you are helping me with an emotional break down.”

           Octavia just hugged her.

           They sat in silence for a long time, and before long night had fallen and no one had come to get them. The stars came out and the two women gazed up at the sky they had once called home.

           After an eternity of quietness, Octavia broke the silence by asking, “Where is he buried?”

           Climbing to her feet, Clarke dusted herself off and replied, “I’ll show you.” She turned to head back towards the Ark’s camp, but was stopped when Octavia grabbed her arm.

“No,” she said. “No, please…just tell me where his grave is. I need to do this by myself.”

           There was a long moment of silence before Clarke finally said, “Before he died, he told me he wanted to be buried next to Charlotte.” Shaking her head bitterly, the blonde woman remembered the empty grave for the little girl, the small hole in the ground Bellamy and herself had dug the day after she had died.

           She hadn’t been back there since she had buried Bellamy.

           She knew she had to face it one day. But not today. Today, it was Octavia’s burden to bear, and it was a crucible she had to conquer on her own. So as the dark-haired girl disappeared into the night, Clarke simply watched her leave. Sitting back down on the ground, she looked up at the stars.

           And for the rest of the night, her heart ached for his company.

 

iv.

           Not even Jasper knew where Clarke disappeared to when it rained.

            To be honest, it was the only consistent thing about the camp’s queen since her king had died. No one knew where she went, but everyone understood that if you needed Clarke while it was raining, you waited until it stopped raining.

            Once or twice she had been spotted leaving camp alone when the thunder would roll in, but no one questioned it (She broke her own rules all the time. But the camp needed her to lead them and she always came back safe, so what was the point in calling her out on it?).

            She knew that whenever she smelled rain on the wind, she could not bear to be around all the people who viewed her as a brave leader (“Brave princess” he had called her. She rarely felt brave anymore.). Because whenever the rain came, she couldn’t keep pretending to be strong.

            She always went to the same place (she was surprised no one had followed her for all the times she’d disappeared). A small cave in the middle of the forest right outside of the Hundred’s original camp. She’d let it pour as she sat near the entrance of the cave, letting the pain in her chest consume her for as long as needed.

            It was the same place he’d kissed her.

            Though memories of his voice and his eyes and his ever-so-rare smile had long since begun to fade, the memory of that day in the rain was still painfully sharp. She could recall what the fabric of his jacket had felt against her palms like as she had pulled him closer to her body. She could remember the exact way his lips had moved against hers and the way she had smiled against his mouth when a small growl had escaped him.

            Try as she might, she couldn’t forget the taste of his lips, salty from sweat and a hint of moonshine on his breath. 

            She buried her face into her hands.  Once. She had only ever kissed him once and she hated herself for it.

            When he had broken away, told her to get back to camp, she had listened to him. She had reflected back on that moment hundreds of times and she’d found that there was nothing she regretted more in her life than obeying that one simple order.

            She wished that she would have walked right up to him and kissed him again. She wished that she’d had the courage to call him out, to make him tell her why he kissed her. She wished she hadn’t pretended like nothing had happened and she wished that she hadn’t seen how hurt, but also how relived he was at her supposed indifference.

            She wished she had told him that she loved him. But she couldn’t change the past. She could only let the regret consume her.

            She missed the way he would touch her shoulder when she was overwhelmed. She missed the way he would always somehow find the exact words she needed to hear and whisper them to her when she felt lost. She missed the way he had her back and she had his. She missed his arrogant attitude, his stubborn personality, his silver-tongue and cocky smile. She missed the way he was so unapologetically himself, but also the way he would try to hide his vulnerability around the Hundred, to be strong for them. She missed the times he would let her see how scared he was, a privilege she knew was granted to no one else. She missed his compassion and his kindness and the calloused mask he hid them under.

            She missed everything about him. Even the things she hadn’t liked.

            What she would give just to fight with him again, just to scream and yell and storm out of camp, only to be chased after and continue fighting. What she would give just to look at his face again.

            But there was nothing that she could do. No way she could see him again. The closest she had gotten to seeing his face was looking at one of Lincoln’s drawings (and even that he had drawn from memory and Bellamy just looked too _angry_ , too harsh. She knew the Grounder man still remembered him as the dark human who had tortured him, even if to save a friend. He could never understand the complexness that was Bellamy).

            Perhaps that was the worst part, the fact that she couldn’t _do_ anything. There was nothing she could do to fix her situation, nothing she could do to bring him back.

            And as she watched the rain beat down against the forest floor, her own eyes creating raindrops of their own, she decided that the worst part was the sense of helplessness that she couldn’t shake.

            That and the regret of not kissing him twice.

 

 v.

            Clarke’s feet caught on a root hidden in the forest floor and she stumbled forward, her knees sliding against the dirt. Scrambling to her feet, she continued running, her breaths coming in pants and her heart beating like a wild animal’s.

            After two years, she had gotten used to the nightmares.

            Every night it was the same one. She saw Bellamy standing at the edge of a tall cliff. She screamed, begged him not to move, to step towards her, not to leave her. She told him that she loved him, but he never spoke. He just looked at her with those regretful eyes. Every night, she watched as the ground he was standing on crumbled away and he disappeared into a black abyss, a void that she could not follow him into. Every. Single. Night.

            But not this time.

            This time he had spoken.

            She thought she had forgotten what his voice had sounded like, but apparently some part of her mind must have remembered because he sounded exactly like himself. He had stood at the edge of that cliff and his sorrowful eyes had peered into her soul as she screamed that she loved him, she _loved_ him. His voice was soft and she thought she felt her legs weaken as she heard him speak.

            “If you love me, then live.”

            Then the ground had crumbled beneath him and she had woken up screaming.

            She hadn’t wasted a moment pulling on her shoes and sprinting out of the camp. She didn’t care that it was dangerous. She didn’t care that it was stupid. She just needed to be as near to him as possible.

            And when she found herself kneeling in front of his grave, she could not hold back her tears any longer.

            “Why?” she cried. “Why did you leave me? You selfish, self-serving, arrogant bastard!”

            _If you love me, then live._

            She felt like someone was ripping her heart in half and sobs wracked her body. Try as she might, she simply couldn’t stop crying. “ _I don’t want to live if you’re not with me!”_ she screamed at his grave. Curling up on the ground, she tried desperately to calm herself, to stop the ache in her chest that was now ripping her apart. “Come back to me,” she sobbed. “I miss you so much. _Please_.”

            She knew she was praying for the impossible.

            But just at that moment, a wind ripped through the forest. It smelled of rain, and Clarke managed to sit up, her hair whipping around her head in the violent gust. And she swore she heard a voice, barely audible, but there nevertheless.

            _I miss you too._

Her hand shot to her mouth.

           She knew that voice anywhere.

           “Bellamy?” she whispered. But the wind was gone as quickly as it came, and with it any traces of the man she loved. Her hands shaking, she sat back and gazed at his grave, wondering if she was going insane.

           Her eyes darted to Charlotte’s grave, it was little more than a patch of uneven grass now, and suddenly a flood of memories came rushing back to her.

           She remembered the day after Charlotte had died. They couldn’t find a body, but Clarke had stumbled upon Bellamy walking out of camp with a shovel anyway.

           “Where are you going?” she had asked him.

           “Go back to your castle, princess,” he had spat back, turning away. But she had grabbed his arm, stopping him. He had swung around, the look in his eye genuinely frightening her for a moment, but something in her face must have changed his mind because his complexion softened and he whispered, “Just because there’s not a body doesn’t mean that she doesn’t get a grave.”

           She had followed him out of the camp.

           The only thing they had buried was the knife Bellamy had given her (the knife that had killed Wells), but the site had grown to mean so much more to the both of them. Whenever one of them had felt lost, they would always end up at that place, and somehow, the other would always find them there. She had lost count of how many times she had sat in front of that small patch of dirt with him, one comforting the other, understanding how hard it was to lead and both grateful that they didn’t have to do it on their own. And now, she’d give anything to do it again.

But then again, perhaps she just did.

            _I miss you,_ she thought.

            _I miss you too,_ rang in her ears.

           She fell asleep, and for the first time in two years, she did not dream.

 

 + i.

            The pain was second only to that she had felt when Bellamy died.

            As Jasper hauled her through the woods, she began coughing violently, blood spewing from her mouth and spattering the green leaves on the ground. The blood tasted metallic in her mouth and she briefly wondered if this was what Bellamy felt when he was dying.

            “Jasper,” she mumbled. “I just want to rest…”

            The boy refused her request by continued all but carrying her towards camp. “No,” he replied. “No, Clarke. You have to stay with me, okay? Now’s not you’re time to go.”

            “I’ve been waiting for my time to go since he died, Jas.”

            “Don’t say that,” was his only response. He didn’t deny her words because they all knew that they were true.

           Life just hadn’t been the same, and she missed him so much. She had survived five years without him, five years with a gaping hole in her heart to remind her that he wasn’t there.

           As the camp came into view, Clarke pressed her hand to stomach harder, her survival instincts kicking in as she felt the warm blood against her skin. Her vision was becoming fuzzy and she was depending more and more on Jasper to carry most of her weight.

           In the end, it hadn’t even been a Grounder that got her (Bellamy’s sacrifice really had brought peace between the two communities). It had been a wild cat, similar to the one that had attacked them their second day on Earth, when they had rescued Jasper. The same day that Bellamy had saved her life, catching her before she fell into the Grounder trap. She hadn’t seen the beast coming and when Jasper called her name, she had turned only to have a two hundred pound beast land on top of her, it’s claws ripping into her belly. Jasper had killed the animal not a second later, but the damage had been done.

           She felt herself being lifted up and her hand brushed against cold metal, letting her know she was on the same table she had stitched up so many bleeding kids on. She vaguely heard Octavia yelling orders (Lincoln and she had stayed in camp and Clarke had trained her to be the assistant healer) at the people around her, telling them to get water and bandages.

           Clarke’s hand shot out and grasped the younger woman’s. “I don’t think I’m going to get out of this one, O,” she whispered.

           Despite her blurry vision, she could see the tears welling up in Octavia’s eyes. “No,” she said. “No, you have to stay.”

           “Jasper will be a great leader. You’ll be the head healer. Don’t’ worry, Finn and Raven will help, too.” Closing her eyes, she let out a shaky breath. She heard Octavia desperately yell something, but she couldn’t understand it. Everything seemed to fade away, then suddenly, she only heard silence.

           Opening her eyes, she found herself lying in a clearing, snow falling gently around her. Thick white flakes landed on her nose and in her hair, but oddly enough, she didn’t feel cold. As she sat up, she saw that she was surrounded by pine trees and on the far side of the clearing, what looked like a worn, silvery-white gate provided entrance past a wall that disappeared into the forest.

           “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

           Turning around, Clarke’s saw on a pair of dark eyes and a smug smirk on a face that she would know anywhere.

           “Bellamy?” she whispered, her throat tightening. She ran towards him and they collided, her arms thrown around his neck as she embraced him. She had to make sure he was real, to prove to herself that this wasn’t some dream that she would have to wake up from. “Bellamy,” she chocked out, her voice caught between a laugh and a sob. “Oh my God, Bellamy, you’re here.”

           “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m here.” She felt his arms tighten around her and she knew he had missed her as much as she had had.

           Pulling away, she looked into eyes (his eyes that held life again) and asked, “Am I dead?”

           A wry grin passed his lips. “I don’t know, princess,” he responded. “You tell me. You were the one who was alive.”

           Inexplicably, that pulled a laugh from her, a loud laugh that built in her chest and burst past her throat. It was the first time she had truly laughed in five years. Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his, an action she had been waiting so long to do. It was much slower than their kiss in the rain, much less urgent and gentler. They had all the time in the world. He pulled her close and leaned into the kiss, brushing his tongue over her bottom lip. When she let out a small squeak, he pulled away and laughed so hard she could feel his chest vibrating against hers.

           Still smiling, he raised his hand and brushed her hair out of her face, studying every inch of her features. After what seemed like an eternity passed, the smile slowly fell from his face and he asked, “What are you doing here, Clarke? It isn’t your time yet.”

           She shrugged. None of it seemed to matter anymore now that she was in his arms. “I got mauled by a giant cat,” she said. Rolling her eyes, she continued, “I know, after everything I’ve survived, a freaking cat got me.”

           A smile of satisfaction graced her lips when he let out a low chuckle. Resting her head against his chest, she quietly whispered, “I missed you.”

           “I missed you too,” he whispered back.

           “I know. I heard you.” She felt him press a kiss against her hair.

           “I was hoping you would.”

           She was about to kiss him again when a strong wind suddenly gusted through the clearing.

            _We’re losing her!_

            _Wake up!_

            _Come on, breathe, Clarke. Breathe!_

            _Dear God, not again._ Please.

           Bellamy let go of her and stepped back. “They need you,” he said, his voice cracking and she saw the sadness in his eyes as his lips pressed into a tight line.

           Looking into the woods, towards the direction the wind came from, Clarke shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “No, they just think they do.”

           “Octavia shouldn’t have to-“

           “Octavia has Lincoln,” Clarke interrupted him. Turning back, she whispered, “Raven has Finn, Jasper and Monty have each other…they all have someone, Bellamy. I was miserable for five years. I tried to do ask you asked, I tried to live to move on, but I couldn’t. Nothing could fill the hole that you left. Everyone seemed to have someone, but I didn’t.” She walked towards him and placed her hand on his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into it. “No one even came close to you.”

           In an instant he grabbed her hand and pulled her in, kissing her hard on the mouth. As he pulled away, leaving her in a daze, she asked, “You’re not going to try to convince me to go back?”

           He lifted her hand and spread her fingers flat against his, examining the way their hands fit against each other’s. “No.”

           “Why not?”

           He tore his eyes away from their hands and looked into hers. “Because I am a selfish man, Clarke.”

           Maybe it was her imagination, but for a moment she thought that she heard a hint of bitterness in his voice. Folding her hand so her fingers were intertwined with his, she kissed his fingertips and whispered, “I think we all are.”

           A soft smile grew on his mouth and he landed a quick peck on her nose. Never letting go of her hand, he pulled her towards the gate on the other side of the clearing. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve been waiting to see what’s on the other side of that gate for years.”

           Clarke stopped in her tracks. “Waiting?” she asked softly, her voice catching in her throat.

           The grin on his face was brighter than the sun, his white teeth shining against his dark skin. “Well, yeah,” he responded. “You didn’t think I’d go without you, did you? Besides, _someone’s_ got to escort the princess into her new castle.”

           The shock wore off and she laughed. She laughed long and loud and she continued laughing as they ran through the snow, her hand entwined with his, both of them racing towards whatever adventure awaited them next.

           And she knew that she would never have to miss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N Hope you all enjoyed the story! Feedback is appreciated. Well, I’m off to have tea with Satan now. Thanks for reading!)


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